Time
by WolfieStar
Summary: After a horrible accident leaves America blind, it is taken upon England to take care of him and bring his self-confidence and self-esteem back up to par with his former self. Though he learns that not everyone can see eye-to-eye with handicaps. UsUk
1. Chapter 1

Time seemed to freeze for Arthur Kirkland, the personification of Great Britain.

Alfred's home was engulfed in orange and red flames, licking and destroying everything in it's path. Roaring with anger, the flames had made quick work of the American's house, bursting out of broken windows and incinerating any wooden object it touched. Grass and planets nearby were torched and burnt to pathetic cinders. Parts of the house was beginning to cave in on itself. It seemed impossible for any resident to survive the blaze.

"Alfred!" Arthur wailed, his emerald green eyes widening, tears stinging the back of his eyes and his throat tightening in emotional agony and disbelief. No. This was not happening. Not to his Alfred. Not to his hero. "Bloody hell..." he turned to one of the firemen yelling orders at his subordinates as they pounded water full force at the burning house. "There's someone inside!" the Englishman roared at him, tears continuing to well up painfully in his eyes. He was a former empire, the greatest pirate that ever lived! He did not cry. Stop flowing tears, stop bloody flowing.

The fireman looked to Arthur, demanding quickly, "There's someone inside that building?" he blinked a few times, quickly shaking his head as he continued to shout over the roar of the flames. "Impossible! There's no one inside!"

"Bloody gits!" Arthur screamed, sprinting towards the close to collapsing structure. He easily evaded the men that tried to grab him, ignoring their yells and demands for him to stop running; that it was too dangerous. England ignored them as he rammed against the door, which easily broke down under his weight.

Flames licked everything in sight, smoke billowing from everywhere. Arthur coughed slightly, taking out his handerchief and covering his nose and mouth with it as he began cautiously running towards where the fire was strongest and hottest. Knowing that his Alfred was in the center of all this destruction made his heart wrench up. No. He could not be weak now. He had to be strong for his hero.

"Alfred! Alfred answer me!" Arthur called weakly, coughing every few seconds. The smoke was blinding and stung his eyes. Realizing that it would be futile to attempt to see through it, the Englishman got to his knees and began crawling as he continued to call his American's name. "Alfred please answer me!"

England nearly froze as he heard the house groan, debris falling on and around his form. "Bloody..." he cursed under his breath. The house would fall at any second. This fueled his frantic search for the American. "America! ALFRED F. JONES!"

There was no response (like he really expected one though), but Arthur saw something up ahead, where the force of the blaze was the strongest. Setting his jaw, Arthur stood up slightly and approached it, hunched over to escape the smoke gathering up at the ceiling and most of the air around him. He knelt down next to it, and nearly cried right then and there.

It was Alfred, sprawled out on his stomach, most of his clothes burned away. There was the smell of burning flesh in the air, nearly causing Arthur to gag. Most of his body was covered in ashes, making Arthur unable to clearly see his features. But, his American was trapped. A large pillar from the ceiling was crushing his poor Alfred.

"Alfred..." Arthur whispered, wanting to touch him so badly, but was afraid he'd hurt the lad. The building groaned loudly again, making the Briton flinch visibly. Looking around, he noticed the flames spreading even more quickly and more debris showering around them. Arthur narrowed his eyes in determination, then pushed against the pillar, desperate to free the trapped American. "C'mon Alfred...just a little longer..." he heaved. "Hang in there..."  
>Arthur pushed with all his strength, and when he began to believe that he was too weak to save his hero, the pillar began to budge. Slowly and gradually, Arthr pushed the destructive object off of Alfred. Arthur gently brushed back his hair, feeling a wet and warm substance stain his hand. He whimpered softly, the house moaning louder, and he swore he felt it begin to shake. Shivering himself, Arthur gently and carefully scooped up the limp American. Removing the hankerchief from his own nose and mouth, Arthur gently laid it over America's own in a weak attempt to filter this disgusting garbage he believed his lover was breathing in.<p>

"Don't worry Alfred..." Arthur murmured to him softly, running quickly towards the entrance, coughing heavily between words. "Arthur is here to protect you...to save you...you'll be alright now, ok? So just hang on. Everything will be ok..."

Suddenly Arthur felt a wave of confusion and incoherence, looking around frantically and skidding to a halt in the middle of the hallway. "What...? No. I just passed this door...! Bloody hell they all look the same! Where the bloody hell is the exit to this hell hole?" he had to get out of here quickly. For his Alfred's sake. Inhaling deeply, he continued running, everything beginning to look distorted in his vision. He was losing consciousness. No...!

"Alfred..." Arthur murmured to him, looking down at him as he felt himself begin to fall. Instead of hitting a burning hot hard surface, cold night air hit his slightly burnt skin. Soft and cool grass enveloped the outline of his body, Alfred slipping out of his grasp. Weakly Arthur called out to him, darkness surrounding him. Overcome with fatigue, Arthur had no choice but to succumb to the intimidating blackness of unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>Arthur groaned loudly as the scent of medicine and other unidentifiable things clogged his nose, causing him to groan fairly loudly. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked a few times in an attempt to focus on where he was. Exhaling loudly, he sat up slowly to find himself in a hospital room. A basic one, as if the hospital personel had just shoved him in there. Wait...what had happened to him? He didn't remember at all.<p>

"Bloody hell..." Arthur groaned, rubbing his head carefully as he looked around the room. "What happened...?" instantly it all came back to him. Without hesitation he jumped out of the bed and sprinted out of the room, dodging the nurses and patients as he ran. "Alfred! Alfred!"

Arms suddenly grabbed him round his waist, and the Briton began to flail and struggle on instinct. "Bloody git! Let me go this instance!"

"Calm down!" a male voice ordered. "If you calm down and listen to me I will let you go!"

"No! I will not listen to you! Where is Alfred? Where is he?" Arthur was close to sobbing from grief, finally ceasing his struggles in the man's arms. "Where is my stupid bloody hamburger eating git..."

The doctor sighed softly, gently leading the hysterical Briton towards the waiting room. Seating him down in a chair, he tied his hospital gown better so it wouldn't fall off, then asked gently. "Sir, what is Alfred's last name? Maybe I can find out where he is for you."

Arthur took a deep breath, shaking slightly as he tried to remember what exactly happened. He had found Alfred and was trying to save him...yes...then...did he faint? That would explain the large gap in his memory. But he had to find his American...!

"Sir." the doctor gently shook his shoulder, snapping him back to reality. Arthur blinked a few times, then looked to the slightly irritated doctor. "Please. What is Alfred's last name?"

Arthur cleared his throat and answered in a slightly shaky voice (his pirate self would frown on him now. How dare he show nervousness in front of a mere mortal!) "J-Jones. His name is Alfred F. Jones."

The doctor suddenly appeared a bit crestfallen, causing Arthur's heart to break into a thousand pieces. Something was wrong with his Alfred. He knew it now. That head injury he must've recieved when the pillar fell on him...tears threatened to spill over again, but he held them in. He had to be strong. He was Arthur Kirkland! Former Pirate! T-This was nothing...

"Is he the one who just came in from the fire?" the doctor asked cautiously, and Arthur nodded slowly, biting his lip to hold down tears.

"Yes doctor..."

"Follow me."

Arthur swallowed, standing up and hesitantly following the doctor. He didn't even bother to attempt to fix the patient gown that was falling off his body. Too much was happening too quickly. How could this have happened to Alfred? He always was boasting that he was the hero, why did this have to happen to him? Was Alfred...dying? Arthur nearly smacked hismelf at that. He was losing it. Yeah, that's it. Losing it.

The doctor stopped outside of a room, Arthur nearly running into the man. But he stopped right in front of him, and looked up at the tall doctor nervously. "I-Is that...?"

The doctor merely nodded. "Yes. This is Alfred's room." he stepped inside the room. He returned with a fairly thick folder. Quicklky he skimmed a few of the papers, then closed the folder and looked to the near-hysterical Briton. Clearing his throat, he began:

"A piece of debris from the burning house lodged into the back of his skull, near the base of his neck, and spinal cord. Luckily it didn't appear to damage it, but he did fracture his skull and appeared to damage his occipital lobe and-"

"What, what the bloody hell is an 'occipital lobe'?" Arthur interuppted. "Is Alfred going to be alright?"

"Let me speak." the doctor demanded, and Arthur quickly shut up. Looking back down at the sheet of paper on top of the folder, he continued. "The occipital lobe controls sight, and it was very badly damaged by fragments of the skull. He was just in surgery to remove those pieces, and he is going to have a metal plate drilled into his head where the bone is missing."

"Hold on..." Arthur spoke slowly, carefully. Nervously. "Y-You said that that lobe that was damaged controls sight...so what does that mean...? That he won't be able to see that well anymore? He'll be color blind? Only see black and white? What?"

"What I mean is..." the doctor sighed slowly, meeting those frightened emerald green eyes. "That Alfred will most likely be completely blind."

Arthur's world began to crack from under him.

* * *

><p>England ran his fingers through his blond hair, staring out the window of the bland hospital room. The flowers he had gotten to put in the room in an attempt to brigten up the room did not bring much color and happiness to the depressing place. He didn't know how many hours he had spent in this room, but it was too much. And the reason depressed him.<p>

Arthur looked back at the pale American lying lifeless in the hospital bed. The scenario didn't suit his hero in the least. That large tube shoved down his throat (he both wanted it there, but wished for it to get out of Alfred's body. It allowed Alfred to breathe correctly and easier - though manually pumping air in his damaged lungs - but it appeared to hurt him and was uncomfortable.) and the thick gauze wrapped around his head... Couldn't Arthur have saved him? Yet he knew there was nothing he could do. As the doctor told many a time, Alfred needed time. He needed time to heal and awaken.

Yet Arthur didn't have time. He wanted his stupid hamburger eating, coke guzzling bloody git back to him. To insult his scones, to laugh at him when he did a mistake, to tease him about his eyebrows. To love him to no end.

Suddenly the heart monitor caught his attention. It was beeping quickly, wait...it only did that when the heart was racing...

"Alfred!" Arthur quickly whipped around to face the bed, his eyes wide in horror. Alfred's eyes were open, his chest twitching and heaving at an abnormally fast rate. Pure panic was written all over his face as he weakly tried to pull out the tube. Immediatly the Briton was at Alfred's side, stroking his face and whispering softly to America in an attempt to calm him down. He spoke in a low voice so Alfred would have to calm down and be quiet to listen to him.

"Alfred, shh sweetie, it's alright, calm down..." Arthur murmured, gently taking the hand that was pulling at the tube and holding in his own, finally stopping it's attempt at hurting it's owner. Rubbing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb, Arthur pressed foreheads with the shivering American. Alfred's eyes were darting around frantically, desperate to see anything, but they were fogged and glazed over.

"Shh...calm down lad...it's me...it's Artie..." the Englishman murmured, using Alfred's pet name for him. Three days. Three days he had waited for America to awaken. Was it worth it to see him in a complete panic? He looked at Alfred's pale pale face, and saw him beginning to bite down on the tube. Cupping his face, he contined to whisper to him. "No, no. Don't bite. You're breathing through that tube. And don't try to talk lad...I don't want you straining yourself...just calm down and relax. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you."

Alfred weakly whimpered through the tube, his blank eyes staring straight ahead. Those beautiful cerulean blue eyes seemed dulled a bit, making Arthur's heart sink slightly. He absolutely adored America's eyes. They seemed to shine. How beautiful they were... Quickly he shaked it away, continuing to stroke America's face and hold his hand, occasionately kissing his nose. He knew that it made the taller male giggle. It always had. Even when he was just a small boy.

But Arthur recieved no response, making his heart break slightly. Never had he seen his love like this. What was it? Hopelessness? Depression? He couldn't describe it. And his eyes no longer were the windows to his soul and emotions. The Briton felt downfallen at this. Alfred's eyes...this blindless was quite a loss for both of them. That Arthur knew.

"Alfred..." England took a deep breath. America had a right to know what was wrong with him, and what had happened. "...y-you're blind...that fire, a piece of debris fractured your skull...pieces of the bone damaged your brain, and you can't see because of that...a metal plate is in the back of your head..." Arthur took a deep breath, glancing in America's face. Again he saw no emotion. "...Alfred...I'm so so sorry..."

A tear trickled down the side of America's face. England blinked, then quickly wiped it away. But more continued to fall, staining his lover's perfect face. The tears did not stop flowing, Arthur wiping away every one as he kissed Alfred's cheeks repeatedly. It didn't seem to be working, and Arthur panicked slightly himself. What could he do to calm down Alfred before he literally had a heart attack...?

"In sleep he sang to me..." Arthur began to sing softly, leaning close to Alfred's ear so he could hear him clearly. "In dreams he came..."

Alfred sniffled softly to indicate that he was listening.

"That voice which calls to me and speaks my name..."

The tears had begun to stop flowing. Only a few sniffles remained.

"And do I dream again for now I find...The Phantom of the Opera is there...Inside my mind..." Arthur kissed in between America's closed eyes, believing him to have fallen asleep from exhaustion. "Good night my love...please sleep well..." he murmured softly. "You need to bloody get back on your feet soon so I can yell at you for the stupid things you do...stupid American..." he kissed his nose one more time. "Artie will take good care of you until then..."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading, first of all.<strong>

**Second, this was originally going to be a one-shot (a very long one at that), but with exams in two weeks, I decided to upload something and make this a two/three shot. So...yes. Consider this chapter one, part one, whatever.**

**Enjoy. Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

Life at home wasn't easy anymore.

Alfred had moved in with Arthur since being released from the hospital on strict rules. This had been understandable after going through a serious head injury and a large operation on the head. The Englishman was fully aware that he would have to stretch his patience to the maximum when dealing with Alfred now. He could no longer get irritated with him for every little thing the American did wrong.

"Here you go lad." Arthur smiled at the American gently as he placed a baseball cap in his hands. The American flag was the pattern on the baseball cap. Alfred blinked his glazed over eyes a few times, running his hands on the cap and feeling every little detail of the hat. He made a whining noise, and with shaking hands, placing the hat on his head. Arthur gently took Alfred's quivering hands, squeezing them tightly. The hat now completely covered that ugly bald spot on the back of the American's head, including the scar that was forming.

Arthur waited for a response from his partner, but one never came. The Briton sighed softly. Ever since the accident, Alfred had not spoken once. Not even a single word was uttered, which frightened Arthur, fearful that something worse had come out of his head injury. The only noises Alfred made were whines and grunts, and those were very rare, usually when he needed something.

Alfred could no longer be left alone, most likely for the blindness that now gripped his being. The nation that once used to boast about being the 'hero', was now basically afraid of his own shadow, one that he couldn't see. He couldn't manuever around the house without Arthur to be by his side, needing his touch as much as possible. The boy was a shadow of his former self. Yet, he kept telling him that it would just take time for Alfred to recover, and that he would be fine eventually. He refused to let his hope dwindle.

Arthur was now attempting to make things as easy as possible for his lover, though it was increasingly hard on him. What Alfred was able to ususally do easily on his own was now nearly impossible, Arthur either having to assist him or do it for him. Dressing the American, walking him throughout the house, even bathing him was a task in which Arthur had to step in.

Everyone had given up on the American, it seemed. No one came anymore to check up on him, or offer hopeful words, or anything of the sort. Yet England knew that he would not give up on his hero. As he kept saying over and over, Alfred only needed time to heal...

* * *

><p>Arthur was sitting quietly on the couch; Alfred curled up beside him, apparently attempting to sleep. Poor boy couldn't go through a single night without a frightening nightmare, and it was having its effects on Arthur as well. The Briton was beginning to fall asleep when he heard soft knocking at the door. Blinking himself awake, he yawned and stood up to go answer it. Alfred felt the weight of the couch leave, and immediately he made a loud whining noise and picked his head up, moving the blanket around his form slightly. Arthur quietly shushed him, stroking his hair until he calmed down. When the American quieted down, Arthur finally answered the door.<p>

The Briton was not expecting to see Francis at the door.

"Angleterre." France greeted, smiling softly. He had thrown on a coat hastily it seemed, his usually well groomed blonde hair was a bit on the messy side, likely from the rainy conditions of England. Pulling the coat tighter around himself, a scarf loosely around his neck, the Frenchman asked, "may I come in?"

Arthur blinked at the taller European for a few seconds, then hesitantly nodded and moved aside to let him in. Francis smiled at him and nodded silently, shuffling inside the warm house. Britain stared at him for a few seconds, wondering why he hadn't made a smart comment yet about…anything. This caught the Briton's attention.

"Why are you here?" Arthur bluntly asked, freezing up as he saw France walk towards Alfred, who was apparently curled up and asleep on the couch. He wanted to yell at Francis to get away, but didn't want to frighten the American. Francis leaned close to Alfred's face, seeing the ugly scar and burns on his head. Snorting, he stood up straight and looked towards Arthur, who was glaring sharply at him. "…Francis, leave him alone, _now_."

"I simply want to check on America." Francis narrowed his eyes. "I consider him my son."

"Well he's not!" Arthur spat, his hands curling into fists.

"Calm down cher." Francis grumbled, taking a few steps closer to him. Arthur immediately reacted by stepping away from him. "…you act as if I'm about to attack you or something."

"I'm not exactly in the mood you bloody frog."

Francis sighed, running his fingers through his wavy locks. "I can tell when I'm not welcomed… I guess I should be going then…" the Frenchman turned around and began heading back towards the door again. Arthur was about to let him go, then sighed and quietly spoke up:

"Fine. I guess you can stay for a little while… It may be good for Alfred to be with other people…"

Francis smiled slightly, removing his hand from the knob. "…yes…for Alfred…" he looked at Arthur, then smirked and began walking towards the Englishman. Arthur did not notice the approaching French, instead moving to sit next to Alfred on the couch. The American narrowed his blind eyes, feeling the couch sink slightly as France sat down next to Arthur.

France sighed seductively as he leaned against Arthur, throwing his arm around him and pulling him close in an awkward half-bear hug. Arthur yelped softly, glancing up at him, not hearing the low growling sound from America, his hands curling into tight fists. Francis purred softly in Arthur's ear, his hot breath moistening the Briton's neck as he whispered,

"He's gone Angleterre. Give it up. He's not coming back the way you remembered and loved."

Arthur immediately shook his head no. "…all he needs ti—"

"How much time can you offer cher?" Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur's shoulders, pulling him close and against his warm, lean body. Walking his fingers up his arm, successfully tickling him, and making him squirm, he continued, "you must resume your life cher. And obviously, Alfred is holding you back."

"You twat! Alfred isn't holding me back! I love him! I would do anything for him!" Arthur spat, now trying to pry himself from the French's grip. But the other male prevented this action from occurring. Francis merely laughed softly, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder.

"But, is this the kind of life for you? Constantly taking care of Alfred? He isn't getting better. Maybe his brother – what was his name? – will take care of him. Go out, have a good time! I can help you if you need it mon dieu…"

"…Francis…" Arthur stared at him before firmly shaking his head. "No! Alfred will get better! It may not be as quick as we like, but he will! Just give him ti—"

"Time, time, time! That's all you talk about is time!" Francis snapped, startling both Arthur and Alfred. The latter whimpered softly, trying to detect where the source of the sudden loud voice was. "Get over him! He's brain damaged! He can't please you like I can!"

"Francis!" Arthur cried, offended as he tried to shove him away from him. But Francis was strong and kept a good grip on him. "Shut the bloody hell up! You're wrong about Alfred! You're completely wrong!" taking a quick glance at the blind nation, he spat back to his southern neighbor, "and shut up! Deon't say such things around Alfred! He can hear you! You talking like this and acting like he isn't even there is incredibly rude and—"

"You're being the rude one!" Francis snarled, letting go of Arthur and standing up, too angry to sit down beside him anymore. "Does he even understand what's going on anymore?"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Does he understand that you're showering him with love?"

Arthur blinked, and got quiet as he looked at Alfred, who was glaring at the ground with such a strong hatred it startled even Arthur. No one knew that he could actually hear everything that France was saying to England, and his usual jealous nature was taking over his being. If only he wasn't blind and in pain, he would have attacked France right when he walked in through the front door. How dare that frog touch his Artie like that! And say such things about him! He wasn't mentally retarded or anything! He knew what love was! If only he could voice his opinion and tell Arthur these things.

Arthur narrowed his eyes as he finally answered, "Francis. Alfred does indeed know what love is. How dare you say such a thing that he doesn't know what love is or not?"

"Does he show love and affection back?" Francis asked with a stoic tone, arms crossed across his chest, not seemingly believing Arthur for a minute. "How do you know that he really does feel such things? Or is it just your stupid imagination again and—"

"Leave." Arthur pointed to the door, equally as emotionlessly as the taller blonde. "You're no longer welcome in my house."

Francis suddenly appeared a bit desperate as he began approaching Arthur again, who responded by walking backwards and away from him. The green eyed man sat down next to his partner, holding his shaking hands with a gentle touch. Alfred grinned at him, pleased that he seemingly won Arthur in the war against Francis.

"But Angleterre! We have not finished discussing—"

"Oh believe me. We're done." Arthur snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "Please. I don't want to have anything to do with you anymore if you're only going to snap horrible things at my partner. I don't want to hear any more of it."

"….Arthur…."

"Leave."

"But—"

"NOW!" Arthur raised his voice to a dangerous level, one that made even Alfred flinch. At least it wasn't directed at him, he thought with a smug look present on his face. He wished he could see the hurt kicked puppy expression that Francis was likely wearing now. Was he a bit of a spiteful person? Oh yes.

Francis finally sighed, adjusting the collar of his coat as he turned around sharply on his heal and began walking towards the door again. Yet he looked over his shoulder at Arthur, saying one last thing:

"I gave you the opportunity for a happy life without anything holding you back. Oh well. There's nothing I can do when you turn everyone away…" he sighed loudly once more, twisting the knob of the door and exiting the home without even glancing back at the man he had just previously attempted to seduce.

Arthur sighed heavily, encircling his arms around Alfred and pulling him close. "Don't worry…he's gone and he won't bother us anymore…know that I love you, alright Alfred? I always have and always will."

Alfred sighed in contentment, resting his head against Arthur and making a noise that rumbled deep in his throat, as if he was attempting to purr. He loved Arthur deeply, and if he loved him back, then there was nothing wrong to him. If Francis was gone, then he'd be perfect…

Arthur stroked Alfred's knotted and messy hair, avoiding the ugly scar and bald spot on the back of his head. Gingerly he kissed the injury that crippled his hero, murmuring a soft lullaby to him. Francis was wrong. Alfred was capable of love. That frog just didn't understand their relationship at all...


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred did not know exactly what was going on. All he heard was vast amounts of yelling and screaming, words smashing together, making him unable to comprehend all of the words spat out by the anonymous persons. Arthur had long since let go of his hand, making him appear and feel like a lost, abandoned child, dependent on their mother.

Now Alfred knew for a fact that they were to go to the world meeting, Arthur being his eyes for him. Though, he didn't understand as to why that child (Hong Kong, correct?) was now yelling angry curses at his Arthur. Knowing that both were now angry and spitting out unkind words, Alfred had wisely stepped out of the way (successfully running into a tree, but that was beside the point).

Now here he was, attempting to listen to the taunts and sneers that Xiang had thrown at his dearest. Anger bubbled up inside of him, yet there was no point to it at all, being blind. Of course his self-esteem was rock bottom now, no thanks to Francis and his visit. So he felt that he could do nothing to support the Briton who supported him so.

Alfred blinked suddenly, Hong Kong's voice rising above the rest. His ears perked at the voice, trying to hear and detect any words.

"You! I'm so tired of you! F*cking kidnapping me from China!" Hong Kong roared, Alfred hearing footsteps. Was he walking away, or to Arthur…? He didn't know, and felt confused by all of this. His head hurt.

"Leon—" Alfred knew for a fact that that was England's voice, but it was cut off suddenly by the personification of the city.

"Don't you dare call me that f*cking name! I am not Leon! I am Xiang, personification of Hong Kong!" the boy shouted, making Alfred blinked. Jeez…when did that kid get vocal chords? "And I am tired of everything you've done to myself, and my baba, Yao! You must pay for what you've done!"

Alfred at that point wanted to be by England's side, but couldn't find him without any eyesight. He shivered softly and growled in frustration, wanting to at least know what was going on. How frustrated he felt…

"Fine then! Hong Kong, just end this! Stop picking a fight that you can't bloody win!" Alfred's face twitched. He didn't remember the last time England got this angry…

There was a sudden smacking sound, followed by an 'aiyah' and a scream. Alfred blinked, narrowing his eyes, realizing that Hong Kong had attacked his dearest. Without even thinking, he ran out towards the noises of the commotion, tackling the first thing he felt.

Luckily, it was Hong Kong.

"What the bloody—" the boy had obvious traces of a British accent, confusing Alfred for a few moments. But he quickly snapped out of it, smelling the overwhelming scent of Chinese food wafting from the boy. "Get off me you damn American!"

Alfred did not speak, it was something he had not done ever since the accident. He only spoke once, his words slurred and mushed together. It was embarrassing, to say the least. Feeling ashamed of his verbal skills, he decided to become a mute.

"Answer me dammit!" there was a sudden pain in his stomach, knocking the air out of him and making him fall onto his backside, Chinese words spat at him too quickly for him to know what was happening. Alfred snarled, scrambling to his feet, clumsily throwing a punch at the air. A cry of frustration left his lips when nothing contacted his fist. Footsteps sounded away from him, then yells of pain from England. His England!

"…Arthur." He whispered, eyes narrowing, hear more sounds of agony leaving Arthur's lips. Slowly, Alfred walked towards the noises, anger boiling inside of him, threatening to erupt and explode. No one touched his Arthur like that and got away with it. Especially when it caused pain to the one he loved.

Frustration took over and overwhelmed him. The frustration of people believing that he was crippled and could not do anything without assistance was taking its toll on him. Especially what Francis had done to him was horribly painful. People were trying to take Arthur away from him just because he was blind…? It made his heart ache horribly.

But all of that would end today, he decided firmly.

"Hong FUCKING Kong!" Alfred screamed, marching right up towards the noises, which had ceased once he had spoken. A smirk crossed his lips. Apparently this was the only good thing about not speaking in so long. Now he had wanted to see the look of surprise on the Chinese city's face when he saw that he wasn't incompetent or a baboon or anything of the sort…

The smirk left Alfred's lips when Hong Kong responded, suddenly feeling the Asian's hot breath on his face, "hmm. Looks like the idiot can finally speak." Alfred's face suddenly stung when Hong Kong smacked him, causing him to nearly topple over. "Now what the hell do you want?"

Alfred cracked his neck, turning his head back towards the sound of the Chinese-accented voice. "…for you to stay away from England." He snarled, his hands curling into fists again. Vaguely he heard England murmur something, likely in surprise that he was speaking.

Hong Kong laughed loudly, then shoved America in the shoulders, causing him to nearly fall backwards. Nearly. He was able to quickly regain his balance, listening to Hong Kong snap to him again. "Stay out of my business you Yankee! This is my business and that damn England's only! So go learn how to read and write, you retard!"

That had pushed Alfred far off the edge.

Without hesitating or thinking twice, Alfred lunged at Hong Kong, knocking him to the ground. A small squeak of surprise left the Chinese boy's lips as both collided with the earth roughly. Alfred wasted no time with beginning to punch and kick the boy's face with a scary strength and anger. All the frustration that he was feeling was coming out all at once, and with a vengeance.

"Bloody hell! Get off me!" the boy screamed, kicking and attempting to break free from the angered American. But it was completely futile, Alfred would not lessen his attack at all. "Get off!"

"You still think I'm a retard?" Alfred roared at him, punching him in the middle of the face again. "You still think I can't take care of myself!"

"Alfred!"

Another punch in the face, not noticing that the other had already fallen unconscious, "You still think that blind people are crippled, worthless beings?"

"Alfred!"

"You still think—"

"Alfred!" America felt two pairs of arm wrap around his torso and attempt to pull him away from the fallen Chinese city. At first Alfred fought against the pairs of arms, then paused, recognizing it at Arthur. His Arthur. "Alfred! Get off that poor boy this instance!"

Alfred didn't make a sound, letting himself be dragged away from Hong Kong. He felt Arthur's body trembling, and he frowned, concerned for his lover. "…are you alright Arthur…?"

"I'm fine lad, I'm fine." Arthur said quickly, turning Alfred around then hugging him close to his chest. The American felt Arthur begin to gently stroke his hair. "…I didn't know…you could…speak…"

"I'm not stupid Arthur."

"I never said you were stupid either love…" Arthur whispered, kissing his forehead. "…I just…didn't know…" Alfred blinked, hearing groaning from behind him, then smirked, hearing frantic footsteps and loud Chinese curses as Hong Kong ran away from the two. Alfred one, Hong Kong zero.

"…are you alright?" Alfred asked after a few moments of silence between them, frowning. "Did he do something to you? I heard you yell in pain…"

Arthur hesitated, then answered. "Yes Alfred, I'm quite alright. The lad just got too frustrated with his past and took it out on me…" he hugged Alfred tightly. "…at least you're alright now love…and that's all that matters…"

Alfred smiled broadly at Arthur, hugging him back tightly. It did not matter anymore if he would no longer be able to see at all, or if he wouldn't be able to do the things he wouldn't be able to do…it didn't matter. As long as he had Arthur, he would be fine…and he would be happy. America didn't need sight to see the love that England displayed towards him.

After all, he had all the time in the world to be with England, now didn't he?


End file.
